The Runaways

Chapter Twenty

It's late. I can tell, even though my eyes are closed. Glancing up, I see that the sky is pitch black. The only light is coming from the park streetlights. How long have I been out here? My phone says that it's 10 p.m. Definitely a few hours.

I had actually spent four hours in the park. One hour walking, the other three crying on a park bench and questioning everything about my life.

The rain continues to fall as it had all afternoon. My clothes are soaked, but honestly, I don't care. Mind foggy, I stand up, teetering as I catch my balance. I know that I need to hurry back to the Girls' Home because it's not safe out here all alone at night. The still wet road is shining from the small lights on each street corner.

Walking off of the sidewalk and down the curb, I squint, trying to read the street name.

Wait. Duncan street?

Where's Lillian Avenue?

Turning the opposite direction, I see a sign that plainly says Kivette Drive.

I wrap my arms tightly around me. This is pathetic. I've been living in Atlanta for two years and I still don't remember how to get back home. Now I really wish I hadn't have left my phone in my room.

Crossing the street toward Kivette Drive, I decide to make a loop until I hit Lillian Avenue. I dodge puddles as I walk quickly past the old, grey shack on the corner.

Glancing at the demolished building, I see, what I think is a man standing beside it. No, it's just the dark playing tricks on my eyes. Just hurry home.

My boot heels softly click against the concrete as my pace slows down a bit. Because of my self-consciousness, I occasionally glance behind me.

A street sign greets me as I stop momentarily, about to tie my boot lace. Ridgemond Circle? Ugh. Okay, Skyler, don't panic. You'll get there eventually.

Bending down to tie my soaking wet shoe strings, I think I hear something behind me. I jerk my head in the direction it came from, and quickly stand up straight. Ten feet behind me stands a tall, dark figure, hands in his pockets.

I swallow hard, "Uhm, who's there?"

The man takes a few slow steps toward me, and I follow by equally distancing myself from him.

"Hello?" I ask, a little louder.

The man won't answer, but begins to walk swiftly after me.

My heart pounds. I take off in the opposite direction, running as fast as possible in my slippery shoes. He quickly advances. Down the sidewalk, across another street.

I can hear the man panting, so he can't be that far from catching up.

My vision blurs and bounces as I continue to run as hard as I can. I don't recognize any of these houses or apartments.

I start to panic.

Panicing always leads to dumb decisions.

Like turning around to look at your pursuer.

I glance behind me to get a look of the man, but only see spots of light as I trip over my still untied laces. Shoving my arms out as I fall, my right wrist is jammed into the ground. My left arm and both legs scrape the bricks as my head smacks the cobblestone that makes up the road. I slide a good 4 feet across it, yelping in pain.

My legs are burning, and I'm pretty sure I popped my wrist out of place. I scramble to my feet. A huge wave of nausea comes over me as I glance back, trying to run once again.

This unknown man is less than two yards away from catching up with me. I look for any sign of Miss Hayes', but see nothing remotely familiar. However, I do see an open window on the corner of Duncan Street. It's a crazy idea, but I'm desperate. I push myself harder and harder until I'm headed straight for the ground-level apartment window.

Barely slowing down, I leap through the open space and tumble into a barely lit room, my body landing on my jammed wrist. It feels like someone split my bone with an axe. My eyes are squeezed shut, and I'm honestly too scared to open them.

No one's screamed at me yet, so maybe it won't be as bad as I imagine.. Gosh, open your eyes already, Skyler. I snap my eyes open.

Well, the attacker sure didn't follow me in here.. I'm in a somewhat small room that resembles a library or study. It's a pretty modern-looking apartment. It seems like one lamp is on in each room, but I don't see anyone yet.

Just as I try to stand, another wave of nausea and dizziness overwhelms me, knocking me back to the floor. My left arm reaches out for something to pull myself up with, but just knocks over a stack of CDs. I really need to get out of here. Gripping the window pane, I pull myself up to stand, but still lean on the navy wall. My head reels as the nausea has its way again, shaking my vision and sending a searing pain through my head. I feel like I can barely breathe, much less move.

"Hello?" says a voice to my left.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I was outside when I saw the light, and I just- I'm sorry. I'll leave right away," I stutter softly as I turn my head and force my eyes to focus on this person.

"No, no. It's fine. But what happened? Did you come through the window or something?"

My blurred vision begins to clear. A curly-haired young man in a white t-shirt and blue jeans stands there with a baseball bat. His dirty blonde hair looks messy, but not slept-on.

His face looks familiar. I'm so caught up with trying to place it that I didn't hear that he asked me another question.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I ask, still leaning on the wall, but turning to face him completely.

"Good Lord have mercy, are you okay?" the stranger drops his bat. He immediately runs up to me and lets me balance myself on his arms.

"Here, come on and sit down."

He leads me into a small kitchen area and sets me down on a tall, black barstool.

I'm completely in a daze as my vision blurs, refocuses, then blurs again. Squares, circles, and octagons replace real objects, fighting for dominance.

The blonde-haired man is rushing around, opening cabinets, and slamming them shut when he can't find something.

"What's wrong?" I ask slowly.

"Don't you mean what isn't wrong?"

He digs around in a drawer for a few seconds, then stands in front of me. He gently holds my arms, then flips them over to look at the other side. He's silly.

I'm fascinated with the pattern that the blood made on my skinny jeans, and I can't take my eyes off of it. The kitchen is turning this way and that, rocking like a sailboat. I'm so sleepy. My heavy eyelids start to close, then jerk open when the man talks.

"Hey, hey," the young man says seriously, "I need you to look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes."

"Why? I'm sleepy," I say softly.

The man puts two fingers on my left wrist, then rubs a cotton ball over my knee, all so very quickly.

"Just because. Alright? My name's Jeremy Delt, what's your name?" He hands me a pill and a glass of water, and I slowly swallow it.

"Jeremy?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing, "I'm.. I'm Skyler. Yeah, Skyler Ripton."

Jeremy reaches for my right wrist, and I quickly pull it away as he touches it. It felt like he smashed it with a hammer.

"Sorry," he says, picking it up more gently, "Can you tell me what happened? Or what you remember?"

"I.. I was in the park, then I was leaving. Late. It's very late. And a man followed me, and I ran. Then I.. I fell down. And landed on my hand. And I hit my head. It hurt.. But he was really close to getting me. So I saw the window, and I ran and jumped through," I try my best to make the words come out clearly, but I don't think I succeed. This makes perfect sense to me, but I hope he understands.